


east

by doitforthecarstairs



Category: The Last Hours Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Character Study, Cordelia-focused, Other, Songfic, i guess?, sleeping at last
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-20 06:35:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30000768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doitforthecarstairs/pseuds/doitforthecarstairs
Summary: Cordelia has a complicated relationship with her family — and herself.Based off East by Sleeping at Last.
Relationships: Alastair Carstairs & Cordelia Carstairs, Cordelia Carstairs & Elias Carstairs, Cordelia Carstairs & Sona Carstairs
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6
Collections: Atlas





	east

**Author's Note:**

> Cuz Cordelia deserves some appreciation <3

**_“I set out to rule the world_ **

**_With only a paper shield and a wooden sword”_ **

  
  


As a child, Cordelia would always look up to her father.

She was six years old, a little girl wrapped in warm wool blankets with only her head popping out. Things were simple as a mess of childish grins and red locks.

Cordelia and her family sat in front of the fireplace, the bronze lighting warming up the darkest corners of their home. Alastair sat in their father’s lap — he had stuck his tongue out, _It’s my turn!_ — and their mother laid on the couch, her weary face relaxed for once.

Elias had the perfect voice for storytelling, Cordelia used to think. It was low and calm and deep. During battle scenes, it intensified, and she felt her heart beating like thunder in her chest. During emotional scenes, it broke just enough that she felt the hero’s heart breaking with it. He spoke for what seemed like hours, but even hours weren’t enough when you’re dreaming of what is yet to come.

 _One day I’ll be a hero just like bâbâ,_ Cordelia dreamt, though her dark eyes were wide open. Alastair had already fallen asleep in Elias’ arms, his mouth open. She would never understand him: how could he fall asleep just as the story started getting interesting?

Sona would chuckle every time she would say that. _Every part of your father’s stories are interesting to you, Layla. Your brother wouldn’t be so tired if you didn’t pick on his feet every time he goes to bed._

Cordelia huffed at the imaginary conversation. She felt her head getting heavier as the story ended. Her mother was already up, she half noticed, and was carrying Alastair to his room upstairs. Cordelia swore to herself that she wouldn’t fall asleep, not yet, but she heard herself yawn.

She rested her chin on her own chest for a second, just a second, and woke up in her bed the next morning. Cordelia vaguely remembered her father carrying her upstairs. Elias had whispered in his story-teller voice, like a distant lullaby:

“Good dreams, Layla.”  
  


**_“My kingdom towers above it all_ **

**_While I sleep safe and sound in my cardboard walls”_ **

  
  


The years went by and she kept on sleeping.

Rays of the midday sun passed through the window, lighting up her bedroom in an illusion-like way. Cordelia would find it poetic, she supposed, if they didn’t burn her eyes. She walked away from the window.

Sona had decided that that was the right time for a mother and daughter moment, and Cordelia wasn’t one to argue with her mom. The woman paced around the room, murmuring to herself, presumably about the two dresses laying on her bed. Risa brushed Cordelia’s long hair while humming a song to herself.

“Which one do you think it’s best for the season?” Sona asked her in farsi. Risa barely looked over her shoulder and Sona started biting her nails once again. Cordelia sighed.

“It’s a party like any other, Mâmân.”

“At least _we_ should look decent, Layla.” Sona clicked her tongue. “I’ve heard they perform activities no unmarried lady should see.” Risa coughed and looked away, but not before Cordelia could see a glimpse of her smile.

“Those are rumors.” Cordelia raised her chin so Risa could tie her hair back with a golden pin. She got up and walked towards her mother who glared disapprovingly at Risa before turning back to her daughter. “I think I like the pink one best.”

Cordelia looked at her mother, searching for approval on her face. She cleared her throat, “What do you think?”

Sona stopped walking and her face softened. “It doesn’t matter what I think, azizam. I know you would look stunning in either one.” She kissed the top of her head. Cordelia’s shoulders relaxed. “Risa, would you help her with her corset? I shall see if Alastair is ready.”

Risa nodded. “She’s right, you know,” She said in farsi as soon as Sona left. “You’ll steal everyone’s attention either way.”

_But do I want everyone’s attention?_

Looking herself in the mirror, she forced herself to believe her mother’s words.

**_“The years wore on and changed my heart_ **

**_The leading role for a smaller part”_ **

Cordelia couldn’t dream forever, though.

They had only been in London for a few months, but she felt more torn than she had ever felt before. Thinking about her brother and all the truths he had told her, Cordelia began pacing around the drawing room.

_When did its walls become so small? When had she grown too big for her own home?_

Her eyes fell to the piano in the corner of the room. It hadn’t been touched in years; the only one who played was Alastair, and Sona made sure that no one else would sit where he once had.

She didn’t realize how much she loved Alastair’s singing voice until he stopped singing. Didn’t realize how much she missed sitting next to him when he played the piano until their hallways were silent. Didn’t realize how much she missed _them_ until they fell apart, like everything else did.

Cordelia heard a song, crooked and broken and distant, before realizing it was her own voice. When she was younger, she felt jealous of her brother for being a better musician than her; now, she didn’t find it in herself to be ashamed. She sang all the things she didn’t dare to say.

As if hearing her thoughts, Alastair walked into the room, crossing his arms at the door frame. They knew each other enough to know they were aware of each other’s presence. Cordelia kept on singing.

She heard footsteps towards the piano. Alastair stayed silent for what felt like eternity, before starting to hum along with whatever song she made up. His fingers went to the keyboard. The melody was low, almost hesitant, but it was theirs. Cordelia opened her eyes to look at her brother.

There were deep shadows under his eyes; Alastair had always been sort of an insomniac. Now, though, his eyelids were shut tightly, as if he was grasping a memory and was too scared to let go. Cordelia knew that feeling better than anyone.

She bit back a smile and they let themselves sing.

**_“'Cause I bear little resemblance to the king I once was_ **

**_I bear little resemblance to the king I could become”_ **

Now that she was older, Cordelia feared her childhood was just that. A dream.

She had been made of curious dark eyes and innocent loud laughs. She had been born from a lie; she had been raised in one. But rocking her baby brother to sleep, Cordelia felt like all that was real in the world fought by her side. That it was all worth fighting for.

Heroism came in so many ways; Cordelia knew she could achieve all of them.

The little boy felt so fragile, so delicate in her arms, as if he was about to shatter at any given moment. But he wouldn’t. He came from a line of warriors, and Cordelia would make sure he knew that.

Roles reversed, she was the story-teller now. Cordelia told him about golden swords, broken chains, fallen angels and hidden loves. He only looked up at her, eyes wide open as hers once had been, unaware of the weight behind those words.

The sky was getting dark outside, a candelabra the room’s only source of light. It was freezing outside and the window was foggy, but the baby and the candles were enough to keep Cordelia warm.

Cordelia’s voice trailed off and she yawned. Her baby brother pulled her red hair, so different from his dark own, and she knew he wouldn’t sleep that night. She felt her head getting heavier and her voice demanded a break, but then her brother laughed at her sleepy expression.

Every time he laughed was like the first time. It made Cordelia so proud of herself, as if she held the world in her hands. The baby looked at her, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth drooling, as if asking for more. _Not now that the story is getting interesting!_

She opened her eyes.

**_“Maybe paper is paper, and kids will be kids_ **

**_But Lord, I want to remember how to feel like I did”_ **

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr under the same name!


End file.
